THE LEGACY OF MAD DOG
by Lawndale Stalker
Summary: Life isn't always reasonable.
1. RIDERS OF THE REDDISH PURPLE SAGE

THE LEGACY OF MAD DOG

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by Galen Hardesty

CHAPTER ONE

RIDERS OF THE REDDISH PURPLE SAGE

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The last scarlet sliver of the bloated solar orb sank below the horizon. Daria Morgendorffer flipped up the driver's side sun visor of her mother's SUV and the clip-on shades on her glasses. "Well, if you have to ride off into the sunset, this is a pretty good one to ride off into."

"Oh, yeah! I'd just _kill_ to get that exact color in a lipstick! And that one there for eyeshadow- can you imagine?!" From the passenger seat, Quinn pointed as if confident that Daria could tell exactly which parts of the sunset she was pointing at.

"Oh, I KNOW! Sandi would just shrivel up and DIE from envy!" Daria waved a limp-wristed hand at her sister.

"All right... sheesh! Don't have a sarcasm-gasm! Or at least pull over first!"

Daria smirked. "I guess we'll each just have to appreciate the sunset in her own way. Speaking of appreciation, did Dad seem brighter and more interesting at dinner than he usually does? And if so, do you think that's because he's back there in Fremont working with clients, or because Mom wasn't there?"

"Hmmm, interesting question," mused Quinn. "I'd have to say some of both. And also partly because, compared to the Fremontites, he **_is_** brighter and more interesting."

Daria smirked again. "Good point. If Fremont were about three times as big, and smelled a little worse, and the people were nastier, it could almost be Highland." She and Quinn were returning to Lawndale following a courier mission. They had brought their father a stack of proposals and a CD-ROM containing the multimedia portion of the presentation that he would be making tomorrow.

Quinn gazed out her window at the passing scenery. The only living things were sage bushes, scraggly grayish-yellow grass, and few-and-far-between trees, all of which looked like they'd died of drought. "I just don't see how it's worth it to Dad to drive all the way out here to Fremont for the tiny consulting fees he's getting." She said.

"It's kind of marginal now, but Dad's got a lock on Fremont because no other consultant has made the effort. And there's a rumor that AMD is going to put a CPU fab out here."

"Whoa, nerd alert! Geekspeak, Daria, geekspeak!"

Daria sighed. "A fab is a factory that makes computer chips, and CPUs, or central processors, are the most valuable kind. They're the brains of a computer. A fab can turn a wheelbarrow full of sand into a million bucks worth of processor chips."

"And if Dad helps Fremont land a new industry like that, he'll have tons of goodwill with the business community!" Quinn was seeing it.

"Not to mention the bonuses he'll be getting. And the tiny businesses that have been paying him those tiny fees will suddenly become much bigger businesses."

"And pay him much bigger fees! I like it! Um, Daria, why are you stopping?"

Daria slowed, pulled off the road onto a stretch of smooth level shoulder, and stopped. "I just want to pick a little bit of this sagebrush before it gets too dark to see. It's cleaner out here than the stuff that grows closer to town." Daria pulled off to the side, got out, and walked about twenty yards away from the road. She broke off small branches from a couple of sage bushes and returned to the SUV.

Quinn examined a piece of the sagebrush as Daria set Helen's red behemoth in motion again. Its tiny curved twigs held many tiny grayish-green leaflets. She sniffed it. "Wow! Potent! What are you gonna do with it?"

"Use it for seasoning."

"But we already have some sage. It's in the drawer under the dish towels with the rest of the spices Mom never uses."

"It's not the same. I don't think it's even related. Remember that potato, onion, and sausage dish I fixed a month or so ago?"

"You fixed that? Yeah, it was pretty good."

"All I put in it was salt and a little bit of this. I'm going to try it in some bean soup next."

Quinn sniffed the sagebrush again. "Yeah, that would work. How come you're getting domestic all of a sudden?"

"Idle curiosity, mostly. I mean, we're surrounded by thousands of square miles of the stuff. But did you ever get the feeling that if Mom plopped one more slab of lasagna down in front of you, you'd scream?"

Quinn snorked daintily. "Yeah, a few dozen times." She sneaked a sidewise glance at her sister. "Are those the only reasons?"

"Well, it did occur to me how tragic it would be if some handsome, brilliant, charming, wealthy young man proposed to me and I had to turn him down because he couldn't cook."

Quinn giggled but wisely said nothing. A body dumped out here might not be found for years.

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It was full dark as Daria pulled into Mad Dawg's parking lot, parked the SUV and turned off the ignition. "Remember, we just get a can of soda and leave. This place gives me the creeps."

Quinn exited from shotgun position. "I don't know why. Everyone was real nice to us last time, remember? Anyway, I felt kind of... at home in there, for some reason. I'm starting to feel it again, right now."

"Well, they certainly rolled out the red carpet for you... oh, wait, that was their tongues."

There were about 20 motorcycles parked in front of the entrance. Daria and Quinn had to squeeze between them. From inside they heard laughter and jukebox music. They pushed open the little swinging doors. The regulars were on the floor, mostly against the walls and in corners. They had obviously just lost a fight, badly. Masters of all they surveyed were the owners of the cycles outside. Most of them wore denim jackets, many with arms cut, ripped, or gnawed off, bearing a very large embroidered patch on the back depicting a tarantula with, incongruously and incorrectly, an orb weaver-type spiderweb in the background. A scroll above the tarantula read 'TARANTULAS M. C.' Daria took in the scene and said "Wuh-oh." 

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	2. MASSACRE AT MAD DAWG'S

Before I go any further, I'd better insert my disclaimer, for whatever protection it may offer. 

Disclaimer

"Daria" and all related characters are trademarks of MTV Networks, a division of Viacom International, inc. The author does not claim copyright to these characters or to anything else in the "Daria" milieu; he does, however, claim copyright to all those parts of this work of fiction which are original to him and not to MTV or to other fanfic authors. This fanfic may be freely copied and distributed provided its contents remain unchanged, provided the author's name and email address are included, and provided that the distributor does not use it for monetary profit. (as if.)

Galen Hardesty [gehardesty@yahoo.com]

This is about my 28th or 30th fic that I have posted all or part of, somewhere on the internet. There are some at The Contrarian's Corner, Glitter Berries, The Sheep's Fluff, Sick, Sad World, and The Daria-Jane Conspiracy that may not have been posted here. There's some stuff at Lawndale Leftovers that doesn't appear anywhere else. And if you want to see them the way I intended them to look, go to Outpost Daria. Additionally, I'll point out that that first set of sites I just mentioned also has some illustrations I've done.

LS

THE LEGACY OF MAD DOG

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by Galen Hardesty

CHAPTER TWO

MASSACRE AT MAD DAWG'S

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Next morning, Jake emerged from his room at the Frontier Fremont Motel and walked to the Waffle Stomper restaurant at the end of the block. Buying a Fremont Free Press at the door, he took a seat at the counter and ordered Spam, eggs, Spam, waffles, and Spam, with orange juice and coffee. 

A big bearded man with a bandana for a cap, wearing colorful suspenders but no shirt, came in and sat on the next stool but one to Jake's left. He was sporting several nasty bruises. Jake looked the man over and saw that he wasn't looking too chipper. But then he got a faraway look in his eye and smiled a genuinely happy smile. Jake said, "Good morning, my man, how's it goin'?"

The man turned toward Jake, winced, and let out a small groan. He lifted his left hand toward his ribs, then winced and groaned again, and ended up returning his left hand to his lap. "I could complain, but I won't. I got the shit kicked out of me last night by a gang of outlaw bikers, but then I got to watch while they got the shit kicked out of them. Most amazin' thing I ever saw!" His eyes wandered off to some other scene, and a beatific smile transformed his less-than-handsome face.

"Ya don't say! So who did it? Your friends? Cops? A bigger gang?" 

"Angels, man! They had to be angels! I was lyin' on the floor and these two badasses were kickin' my head around just to watch my beard jiggle. All my buds were down too. An' then these two beautiful little girls came through them swingin' doors. It got so quiet you could hear a flea fart. The Tranchlers stopped kickin' my head an' went for the girls. Said they were gonna throw 'em on the pool tables an' do 'em right there. I was about to try to grab one of 'em by the ankle an' maybe buy the girls a few seconds to run for it, when the one with the dark red hair just... she just... Man! I ain't **_never_** seen any human bein' move that fast! She lit into that gang of thugs like a buzz saw! An' I mean there's like two dozen or more of them, an' she's **_little, _**but she's layin' 'em out right, left, an' center, an' they can't touch her, she's so damn fast.

But then this one badass pulls out the butt end of an aluminum pool cue an' takes a swing at the girl's head from behind. Or starts to, anyway. That's when the other girl, the one with the light red hair, gets into it. She snatches the pool cue outta this guy's hands an' lets him have it right between the eyes! An' then she lays into the rest of 'em, screamin' like a wampus cat, an' that pool cue goin' bing! bing! bing! ever' time she scores with it! An' the first one never makin' a sound, except with her boots, whoppity whoppity whop! Them Tranchlers was goin'down like tenpins, an' flyin' through the air, an' splatterin' on the walls, an' then there just ain't no more of 'em standin'! The one with the dark red hair just stops, right then, but the other one keeps on a-screamin' an' a-whackin' till the first one runs up an' grabs her an' makes her stop."

Jake asked a question he had to ask, but was afraid to have answered. "Uh, you say "little girls... how little, exactly?"

"Oh a little over five foot, I guess, and definitely under drinkin' age. But you got a paper, man, take a look at the front page! Angels, right?"

With shaking hands, Jake unfolded his copy of the Fremont Free Press and read the headline **MASSACRE AT MAD DAWG'S**. Beneath that was a photo of Daria, arms crossed, booted foot upon a fallen foe, and Quinn, left fist on hip, right hand holding the butt end of a pool cue like a walking stick. They stood amidst mounds and heaps of unconscious or otherwise disabled Tarantulas, looking at each other with satisfied smirks. 

Jake was trembling and his face was flushed. "Angels? Yeah, my angels! My babies!" He snatched a pill bottle out of an inside jacket pocket, popped a pill into his mouth, chewed it up, and washed it down with his complimentary ice water. Then he pulled out a cell phone and hit a speed dial number.

Meanwhile, back at Schloss Morgendorffer, Quinn was starting on her second bowlful of Model Krunch cereal, and Daria was attacking a bowl of Sugar Frosted Honey Lumps with unusual gusto. Helen was talking on her cell phone and pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"Just a second, Eric, I have another call. click HellO-o! Oh, good morning, Jake honey. I have Eric on... well of _course _they're here. They got in a little late, but not much, and went right to bed. Well, of _course _they're okay. Why wouldn't they be? Calm _down_, Jake! The paper? Yes... no, nothing on the first page, let me... oh, my... I see it, on page three. The caption reads 'TEEN SISTERS STOMP TARANTULAS'. But what... an **outlaw**MOTORCYCLE gang?! Oh, my God! Daria? all right, here she is. Daria, talk to your father. And then be prepared to talk to me." Helen thrust the phone at Daria.

Daria held the phone to her ear. "Morning, Dad. ...Yes, I'm fine, and so is Quinn. ...Well, I'm kind of sore, like I overexerted myself, you know. ...No, none of the Tarantulas hit me. Quinn got me a lick or two before I could get her stopped, but not bad. She kept one of them from wrapping a pool cue around my head, I was told. ...Yes, I'm going to school, if I can get a ride from Mom. ...Good luck with that presentation. ...Knock 'em dead. Oh, and later, I need to ask you some questions about Grampa. ...'bye, Dad." She returned Helen's cell phone and started back on her Sugar Frosted Honey Lumps. 

"Young lady! What in the name of sweet reason were you doing? What were you **_thinking?!"_**

Hungry and slightly annoyed, Daria swallowed, pointed to Helen's cell phone, and said "Eric's holding." 'That should give me time for a couple of bites', she thought.

Alas, it was not to be. Helen pushed a button, said "EricI'llhavetocallyouback.", pocketed the phone, and rounded on Daria again, her eyes ablaze with maternal instinct. "Daria. Talk. NOW."

Daria looked up at Helen with a frightened, pitiful expression. "Mwe duf fdob dere du geh uh foda!" Cereal and milk dribbled down her chin and back into her bowl.

"That is NOT funny, missy!" said Helen, trying and failing to stifle a laugh. Quinn clamped a hand over her mouth and nose to keep from laughing aloud, and spraying Daria with a mouthful of Model Krunch cereal.

Wiping the milk off her chin, Daria knew her little sight gag had only partially defused her mother's anxiety and anger. "I wanted a Blast Me cola to be sure I stayed alert on the drive home. Beyond Mad Dawg's, coming back this way, there's nothing but dead weeds and sagebrush for twenty miles or more. It was quiet from the outside, just music playing and a couple of guys laughing. Once we stepped through the doors and they saw us, it was too late to go back."

"Daria, surely there was some reasonable alternative to a tavern brawl. And in Mad Dawg's, of all places!"

Daria locked eyes with her mother and spoke very deliberately. "Life isn't always reasonable, Mom. The alternative was to be gang raped on a pool table. It was f**k or fight. And when that big fat greasy b*st*rd reached for Quinn, something inside me chose fight."

Helen paled and fell back half a step, struggling to come to grips with that image. Quinn said, "Yeah, and when that other smelly scumbag lined up on Daria's head with a pool cue, I saw red!"

Daria added, "And by the way, how is it that neither you nor Dad ever told us that Mad Dawg's was an 'of all places'?" She turned to Quinn. "You saw red? Is that how it was for you?"

"Yeah. It was like looking through a red mist, and I was **_furious_** and everything was vague. The next thing I remember clearly is you grabbing me and talking in my ear and... Omigod! Daria, I hit you with the pool cue! I'm so sorry!"

Daria smiled a little. "It's okay. You weren't quite yourself."

"Well... thanks. But wasn't that how it was for you? The red mist, I mean."

"No, for me it was just like the time with the mugger. Time slowed way down, a different part of my brain was in control, and I was along for the ride. There were no emotions, just calculation. And when the fight was over, I returned to normal." 

"And when and why did you grab Quinn?" Helen asked.

"After it was over. I grabbed her to stop her from making hairy strawberry jam out of some biker's head. He was down and out already."

"Ewww! DARiaa!"

"Daria, are you saying that Quinn was..."

"...a little overexcited, so I helped her calm down. Uh, it's getting late. Mom, like I told Dad, I'm kind of sore. Can you write me a note to get me out of gym today? Better yet, ask Ms. Morris to let me use the Jacuzzi. And I need a ride to school. I can't walk that far today."

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In the car on the way to school, Helen glanced into the rearview mirror. Quinn. Adorable little Quinn. It seemed like yesterday she'd looked in the mirror like this and fussed at Quinn to stop bouncing on the seat. And Daria. Helen looked to her right. So small, so defenseless looking, sweet, even. A bible verse came to her mind, something about being wise as serpents and innocent as babes. Or was that lambs? That was Daria, innocent as a babe and wise as a serpent. They were still so young! They were still her babies!

Helen struggled to comprehend the fact that her babies had been set upon by an outlaw biker gang, and had beaten the daylights out of them. Two dozen murderous thugs intent on rape and the devil knew what else, and not one of them had been able to so much as lay a hand on either of her daughters. What the hell was going on here? She was pretty sure there was nothing in any of her child rearing books that would help her with this situation.

As Lawndale High hove into view, Daria beheld a scene she'd hoped nevermore to behold. A crowd had collected outside the main doors, and in the midst of it were several TV remote relay vans. "Oh, hell! Uhh, Mom, isn't today 'Take Your Daughters To Work Day'?"

Helen stared grimly at the swelling mob ahead, then swerved off onto a side street. "Yes, I think it is. Quinn, get me Ms. Li." Helen handed Quinn the SUV's phone handset.

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	3. ATTACK OF THE FIFTH ESTATE

THE LEGACY OF MAD DOG

_by_ Galen Hardesty

CHAPTER THREE

ATTACK OF THE FIFTH ESTATE

_------& _

Daria sat in the office of Wanda Farraway, public relations specialist for the law firm of Vitale, Davis, Riordan, Horowitz, Schrecter, Schrecter, and Schrecter and tugged at her skirt, trying to move a seam out from under a tender spot on her thigh. Her sister Quinn sat in another chair beside her. Wanda was engrossed in reading an article in this morning's Lawndale Sun-Herald.

Wanda looked up from the paper at Daria and Quinn with an amazed expression. "And there were how many of these... Tarantulas?"

"I believe I heard the figure twenty-seven mentioned. That sounds about right." said Daria. Behind her, Helen slipped into the office and closed the door behind her.

"Twenty-seven of them against the two of you, and you won?"

"We slaughtered 'em!" crowed Quinn. "They never had a chance!"

Daria winced. "Well, they had just gotten through beating up all the regular patrons. There were about a dozen of them. They lost, but they wore the bikers down some for us." she pointed out.

"But when you entered, there was no one standing but these outlaw bikers?"

"That's right." Daria launched into a concise description of the fight.

"That's about the most clear-cut case of self-defense I've ever heard of. This should be no trouble at all."

"Legally speaking, yes. But what we want to do is minimize our media exposure. There might be one little thing, though. Quinn did hit one guy a few times after it was strictly necessary from a self-defense viewpoint."

"A few times?"

"Four or five. Or six. In the head. With a pool cue. After he was unconscious." Daria murmured, looking down at her boots.

"Ooh. That's certainly not favorable. How many witnesses are we talking about?"

"Six or seven of the regulars were conscious by then, maybe one or two of the Tarantulas, but I doubt it, and me."

"And Quinn?"

Daria looked over at her sister, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the last few minutes. "Her memory of the fight itself is kind of vague. Quinn, describe the fight as you remember it."

"It was awesome! This big fat smelly disgusting... _animal_ says he's gonna... _do_ me on the pool table, and when he goes to grab me, Daria just explodes! She moved so fast I couldn't really see what she did, but I heard the bones breaking, and then she moved on and he kind of collapsed on the floor making this whining screaming noise, but by that time Daria had taken out two or three more of them! It was just great to watch her because she never wasted a move, and you could tell she had it planned out in advance because when she finished a move, she'd always be set up for the next one, but she was just so fast I could hardly follow her, and then this guy had a piece of pool cue, and he was gonna hit her in the head from behind and that just made me so mad I saw red, and I snatched the pool cue out of his hands and started swinging... it's a little fuzzy after that, until Daria grabbed me and told me it was over and made me stop. Oh, and... when she grabbed me, before I stopped, I... hit her." Quinn looked down at the floor, ashamed.

Wanda looked at Daria. "Oh, dear! Are you hurt?"

"Just a couple of bruises. She didn't have a good angle. She was trying to swing over my shoulders."

"Bad bruises? Could you show me?"

"Well..." Daria stood, turned to face away from Wanda, and lifted the back of her skirt several inches, to reveal two pool cue imprints on the back of her left thigh. They were black, blue, and purple, with irregular reddish outlines. They looked terrible.

"Oh, my goodness! Don't those hurt?"

"Yes, but I'm ignoring it. Look, I agree with you that there shouldn't be much of a legal problem. It probably will never occur to those guys that what Quinn did was wrong. They do it all the time themselves. It's SOP to them. We need your help with the media. I certainly don't want reporters and camera crews swarming me and tabloids turning me into eight different kinds of freak until the next juicy story comes along, and I doubt that the rest of my family does either. Can you get them off our backs?"

"But, Daria, the story is already out. It's too late to suppress it."

Helen interjected "Can we minimize it, or discredit it, or spin it? I don't want my girls on the cover of the Comet or the National Perspirer, or us either, for that matter. Jake's clients would run away the next time he got a little excited! And it wouldn't do me any good either." Her expression turned grim as she considered the possible repercussions.

Daria's expression brightened a little. She moved to Wanda's computer. "I think the regulars at Mad Dawg's would be inclined to help us, and I got the impression that the guy who took that photo was a regular, too. May I?"

"Sure." Wanda's expression turned thoughtful, with a hint of scheming. "If they claimed they were the ones who beat up the bikers, and you girls said the same... The Tarantulas probably wouldn't dispute it. If it got out that they were beaten up by two high school girls, their reputation would be ruined!"

Daria had found the phone number for Mad Dawg's on the Internet, and was writing it down. "Maybe we could discredit the original story by associating it with the sensationalist tabloid press."

"That's good, Daria! If you're through on the computer, I'll track down the source."

Daria moved away from the computer and picked up Wanda's desk phone. "I'll call Mad Dawg's and find out what I can."

"Good, but we need a face-to-face with all their patrons that were there last night as soon as possible. Do any of you know someone in Fremont who could help set up a meeting?"

Helen fast-drew her cell phone and speed-dialed. "My husband is there right now, and that's right up his alley."

_------&_


	4. THE FREMONT TRAIL

THE LEGACY OF MAD DOG

_by_ Galen Hardesty

CHAPTER FOUR

THE FREMONT TRAIL

_------& _

"You girls hurry up! Wanda will be here any minute!" Helen called from the hallway. She stuck her head in Daria's room. "Daria, don't you have anything to wear that looks better than that?"

Daria gestured to her closet. "Well, there's my bridesmaid's dress..."

Helen made a face and tossed Daria her car keys. "Well, go on down and open up the car. We'll be there as soon as I can drag Quinn out."

-_&_

Wanda pulled up and parked in front of the Morgendorffer house as Daria was exiting the front door. Daria waved and beckoned to Wanda over to Helen's SUV.

"Thanks for coming with us, Wanda," Daria said as she unlocked the SUV's front passenger door. "Mom and Quinn should be down any second."

"My pleasure," Wanda smiled as she got in. "There wasn't any p.r. work for me to do at the office today, and this has got to be more interesting than the stuff I'd be stuck with otherwise, even without the barbecue thrown in."

The front door opened again and Helen emerged, followed by Quinn, hands held up in front of her like a freshly scrubbed surgeon waiting for gloves. As Helen locked the door, Quinn called out, "Daria, be a dear and open the door for me. My nails aren't dry yet."

_I'd rather be a deer and open the seat of your pants with an antler, _Daria thought, but opened the right rear door without comment. After Quinn was in, she walked around the car, opened the driver's door for Helen, and then took her place at the left rear.

-_&_

They'd reached the outskirts of Lawndale. Daria watched as the increasingly scattered orchards, vineyards, grain fields and horse paddocks slid by, and the countryside began to look more like what it was without irrigation... the high plains desert. They passed Happy Herb's Used Cars with its tattered banners hanging limp in the breezeless air and its perimeter fence decorated with tumbleweeds. Beyond, except for an occasional cleared patch or empty shed of unknown purpose, sagebrush reigned unchallenged out to the eastern horizon. Daria turned from the window toward her sister on the other side of the car.

"Quinn, remember last night when we pulled into Mad Dawg's parking lot, you remarked that you felt sort of at home there?"

"Yeah... but that changed when the fight started."

"No surprise there, but what about between the time we got out of the car and the fight?"

"Uh...what?"

"During that minute or so before you started swinging that pool cue, what did you feel?"

Quinn gave Daria a puzzled look at the strange question, but considered her answer carefully. "Well, it's strange, but... it was sort of like I was going to visit someone I hadn't seen in a long time, and... and I knew they'd be glad to see me."

Daria considered this. In the front seat, Helen and Wanda were silent. "Hmm. Did you have anyone in mind?" Daria asked.

"No. I wasn't thinking about anyone we'd seen in Mad Dawg's. It was more like if we were going to see Gramma Ruth, only I wasn't thinking of her either. Uh, why do you ask?"

Daria hesitated, then said, "You went into an altered state last night, and I'm curious about what brought it on."

Quinn looked alarmed. "Altered state? What do you mean, altered state?"

"Don't panic. I just mean that your mind shifted gears there, when you started to see red."

"Oh. Well, I was like really scared, and then you went all Bruce Lee and I was like wow, and then that creep pulled that pool cue and I was like, I'll kill 'im! I'll kill 'em all! I got mad." Quinn paused, then said, "Really mad."

"Uh-huh. Was there anything else?"

"No. Well, sort of. There was this feeling that I was, like, carrying on a family tradition, like I, uh, won a ribbon at the fair with Gramma Ruth's secret pickle recipe or something." Quinn pondered a minute, then shook her head. "No, that's dumb. It's more like the way Kevin's dad would feel when he scored a touchdown."

"I see. Interesting."

"Yeah. But the funny thing is, it's like it wasn't me that felt that way, it was someone else. Like maybe the person who was glad to see me."

Daria stared at Quinn. In the front seat, Helen's eyes widened, and Wanda's mouth opened but no sound came out. "Uh, could you expand on that?" Daria asked.

"Umm... it was right when that guy yelled "yeah!""

"I don't remember anyone yelling 'yeah!'" They were yelling 'ow!' and 'argh!' and you were making a noise like a catfight, but I don't remember a 'yeah!'.

"Well, I'm not surprised. You were pretty busy. It was just after I grabbed that piece of pool cue and clocked that first guy with it. Some guy yelled 'yeah!' and there was this really proud, satisfied feeling. Only it wasn't my feeling."

"Very interesting. Do you think the guy who yelled 'yeah' was the one who felt proud?"

"I don't know. I kinda think so."

"And did it seem like he was proud of you whacking this other guy with the pool cue?"

"Um, could have been, I guess. Or maybe just because I got into the fight. I don't know."

"Hmmm..."

"What do you think it means?"

Daria stared thoughtfully down at her boots for several seconds. _I remember all the events of that fight in minute detail,_ she thought, _and I saw Quinn grab that pool cue out of the corner of my eye in the mirror behind the bar, and no one yelled "yeah!" when she did. _She shook her head. "Beats the heck out of me." She continued to stare unfocusedly at her boots and massage her chin meditatively.

Quinn waited what was for her a long time, hoping Daria would say more, then turned and looked out her window.

_------& _

Jake Morgendorffer gazed out over the high plains desert. The seemingly dead grass glowed golden in the early evening sunlight, and the distant hills were beginning to show off their strata of different-colored stone in that special way that could only be seen near dawn and sunset. Smiling, he took in a big lungful of clean desert air, and caught a whiff of burning mesquite.

Turning about, Jake surveyed the preparations for this evening's barbecue going forward outside Mad Dawg's. Smoke was rolling out of the big trailered grill with its sign advertising a local building supply store. The store owner's son and another man were preparing a bed of coals, and grilling some hot dogs to take the edge off some of the guests' hunger until the barbecued beef and pork were ready later. Tea, lemonade, soft drinks and cheap beer were on the house inside, and the slaw, potato salad, baked beans, french fries and chips were on the way from a caterer in town.

Jake took another gulp of his lemonade and grinned. This was going to be fun. It was costing him a sizeable chunk of change, but it would be great PR. He'd be a much higher profile personage in and around Fremont after tonight. And it should go a long way towards putting the kibosh on those stories about his daughters being teenage mutant ninja werewolves, or whatever.

Jake sighed. Damn shame, though. Jake was so proud of his girls, and he really wanted to brag on them. But then, he realized, he _could_ brag on them with these people. They were here, they saw the whole thing. In fact, his schmoozing instinct said, better to start by letting them tell _him_ the story. It was the media they needed to bamboozle, and small-town folk had an instinctive talent for doing that to city slickers, Jake knew. He'd just have to make sure they classed the Morgengorffers in the 'friends and neighbors' category, and not with the 'city slickers'. An exercise in positioning. Jake could handle that.

_------&_

Quinn reached into her faux pinto purse and pulled out her dual grit diamond nail file. She was about to start working on her left thumbnail when she remembered she'd already filed, buffed, and polished her nails today. Making a tiny frustrated noise, she resheathed the file, tossed it back into her purse, and turned to watch yet more scrub flow by the window.

Wearing the genuine gingham outfit Travis had bought for her with Jane's bail money... well, actually, that she'd bought when Travis was caught trying to shoplift it... seemingly so long ago, Quinn was a lonesome cowboy's dream. Her makeup and nail polish was all in coordinated shades from Kiki Muffington's Taos collection, her eyes were the clear blue of the western sky, and her fragrance was Desert Moon. Quinn was dressed to kill. Sadly, she lacked prey.

On the other side of the SUV's middle seat, Daria placed her bookmark and closed her book. Laying it in the center of the seat, she slid closer to the door and availed herself of the armrest. Daria found the sameness of the passing scene soothing, especially in the evening , like now.

Daria was also dressed to kill in her jacket of low-observable green over an earthtone shirt, black pleated skirt for maximum lower limb motility, and heavy-soled, battle-tested Corcoran mil spec jump boots. And in an inner jacket pocket, precision machined and polished of fine, high-tensile stainless alloy, the reassuring weight of her trusty SAK.

"Daria, do I look okay?" Quinn was feeling the lack of admirers.

Daria sighed and passed up an opportunity to needle her sister in favor of supporting the team. "You look stunning, Quinn. You're a vision of cowgirl loveliness, as you know better than I."

Quinn seemed slightly reassured. "How about my perfume? Do you think it goes with my outfit?"

Daria dutifully sniffed at her sister's offered wrist, and laid it on heavy. "It's perfect. It evokes the freedom of the great outdoors and the mystery of the night."

"Really? Thanks! Uh, Daria, are _you_ wearing a fragrance?"

Daria extended a wrist toward Quinn. "Why, yes, I am." Behind the wheel, Helen's eyes widened.

Quinn sniffed, looked puzzled, sniffed again. "Well, it's, uhh.. different. I can't quite place it."

"I chose it to help me blend in rather than to attract, to get them to accept me as 'one of the boys'. It's targeted at the rugged, self-reliant outdoorsy type."

"An interesting strategy." Quinn mused. "Suits our purpose tonight. What's it called?"

Daria replied "Hoppe's Number Nine." Behind the wheel, Helen smirked ruefully and shook her head. Wanda grinned and choked back laughter. Quinn made a mental note to ask the perfume girl about it next time she went to Cashman's.

_------&_


End file.
